it was a time of rapture
by itsadreamanditsabitofadance
Summary: A few years after Walter and Bertha Shirley miraculously recover from scarlet fever, they decide it's time to take 4 year old Anne and the newborn twins to somewhere they can have a happier, freer childhood. And when a job offer in picturesque Avonlea comes their way, how can they turn it down? My first big undertaking!
1. A Fundamental Difference

Anne cannot remember when her parents fell ill with scarlet fever, yet she knows that somehow it's a good thing they did. They tell her often that their recovery filled them with such _joie de vivre_ and gladness to be alive that they indulged her with renewed vigour - they pored over books with her when she was just three, took her to the sea when she wanted, bought her ice cream, and they _know_ that this was the best thing for all three of them.

Now five of them, little four year old Anne thinks, looking at her little brother and sister Alexander and Cordelia (her idea, _mummy, daddy, I can't let you curse another child with such a dull name as Anne_ ) lying swaddled in their tiny wicker cot on the worn and well loved carpet of their quaint Bolingbroke front room. The light gently stretches its warm fingers through the lace curtains hanging at the frost-tinted windows that are gloriously warped with age, so Anne turns to Katie Morris in them and tells her who these slumbering creatures are, hair red and curly as Anne's and Walter's.

It's the last time she talks to Katie - she's not starved for company her age anymore. Besides, Mummy and Daddy were the best friends she ever needed anyway, so she bids goodbye to Katie without a care in the world.

Later that day, Walter snatches Anne up from where she stares in raptures at the children - they left her with them for a few minutes so Bertha could rest, she's so talented with children - he tickles her, carrying her up the stairs, flung over his shoulder 'like a potato sack'. He unceremoniously yet carefully drops her on the bed, both giggling like mad, before leaving to pick up the twins. Anne crawls up to a pale but ecstatic Bertha and nuzzles her neck. Both grin. 'I love you, my darling. I love you like mad. I wanted you to know that you'll never be repla-'

Anne shuts her off with a mature look and a finger to her mother's lips, a surprisingly mature smile playing at her own. 'I know. I'm so happy too, mummy. I love everyone in this house so much!' She's suddenly shouting exuberantly, flinging her arms about as her father comes in the door, cradling the rest of their little family.

...

Before Anne starts school, Walter and Bertha make the decision to move somewhere a little more picturesque for their romantic minded child and for their twins to grow up. They're around 4 months old now; Anne will be starting school in 5 months, September time. She's 5 now, looking desperately forward to _other children_ , rather than just her caterwauling siblings (though she loves them). They go out a lot to teach her about the world - but this has the side effect of her having no real attachments to the children near her.

It's about this time when Walter gets a job offer from a little town called Avonlea on PEI, a friend from Redmond having moved back home to work on the Carmody Board of Education. 'My friend,' he says in his latest letter, 'I think I have just the post you are looking for.'

Walter and Bertha Shirley, self-renowned explorers of this life given miraculously back to them, grab this opportunity with both hands.

Little Anne is ecstatic. ' _Think_ , mummy, of all the trees growing out of that crimson soil and sprouting their silver branches over the mayflowers in the hollows!' Walter and Bertha have encouraged this imagination and precociousness, and share her joy deeply.

Two weeks later, they say farewell to their little house o'dreams, and board the ferry to Prince Edward Island.

...

The island shimmers like a beacon, rising up from the spangled horizon, water-twisted and beckoning. The sea is blue below the ship, the pathway cutting through the ebb and flow of the waves. As they dock and hurriedly board the train to Bright River, they barely have time to feel the warm red earth beneath their toes, and little Anne's frustration is palpable as they steam along the fields and canopies of trees. Walter knows his girl, however, and has read up on PEI so he can answer the burning questions that are inevitably held in her shimmering grey eyes.

'Daddy? Why is the soil red?'

'A higher presence of iron, darling.' He smiles gently at his wife, caught contentedly in the liminal zone between daydreaming and sleeping, a smile curling at her lips, a hand on the baby carriage. She smiles back, face bathed by the sun and dappled by the shade flashing jubilantly by the windows of the train. Anne quietens for a moment, and all three bask in the beauty of their new home, before Anne starts chattering quietly again.

...

The train draws in at Bright River; their things will arrive tomorrow in a cargo train, but there isn't much. Walter and Bertha aren't particularly materialistic - they have books, a few old heirlooms, but, 'poor as church mice', they sold most of their furniture to pay for the passage over here. They stay the night at the Bright River inn to wait for the crates, telling stories and singing each other to sleep in the breezy dusk of April. When they wake the next day, they find the crates already loaded for them by a kind old man who they had spoken to the night before; he says their love and their children were so beautiful he wanted to do something nice-he saw how tired they were. Anne says, 'am I beautiful even with my red hair?' and the man replies 'I never saw such intelligence shining from such fine eyes.' Walter and Bertha smile; being clever is better than being pretty, after all, but one comment from a particularly mean boy and Anne has never liked her hair. She doesn't seem to know, as her parents do, that he says her cleverness is imbuing her face with a glow that is rarely found in children.

The cart they have rented and the old man has loaded has a map placed inside a small box in the footwell; Bertha and Walter follow it quite well before Bertha becomes too effusive about the orchard she espies over a low, loose brick wall, where they stop off for lunch. The twins were still asleep, the rocking of the carriage lulling them into slumber, so Bertha lovingly wakes and feeds them as Walter teaches Anne more about the island.

Back on the road, there are very few scrapes as Anne has promised to be on her best behaviour, but the whoops of delight at seeing a gull or a chicken cause a few thrills of fear through her parents as she teeters on the edge of the cart. But that is just Anne-and she never makes the same mistake twice.

It is dusk when they arrive in Avonlea, what with their many stops and inquisitive detours, but when they arrive they find, in the square, a small welcome party for them, commandeered by a Mrs Rachel Lynde, who is generous to a fault but very prying, which the Shirleys write off as amusing. They came here to live, not to censure. Mrs Lynde guides them to the teacher's house, off from the main town by a little road, very near the woods. When they arrive, an austere, sharp, grey woman is waiting for them by the gate, with a little parcel clutched in her hands.

'That there is Miss Marilla Cuthbert. She lives with her brother Matthew at Green Gables, thataway.' Marilla turns to greet them with a smile. They notice that it is rarely used-but it transforms her face into something beautiful. A kindred spirit indeed, they think, as she thrusts her preserves and a small cake at them. 'I apologise for not being at the party. I...don't always like to participate in town events like these. I would prefer to get to know you more personally...if that is agreeable to you, of course...'

Walter and Bertha enthusiastically nod, catch a brief hint of a grin as she clears her throat, looks away. 'Right. Well. Best be off then...'

And with that they turn, cradling their children, and step over the threshold into their new home.


	2. But How Much Does It Change?

A few days after they settle in, they begin to receive calls from the neighbours, and start to sketch a picture of their new society. There are the Pyes, who want everyone to think they are their social superiors, and that they could move away at any time - but who are truly too scared to do such a thing as they would then be at the bottom of the ladder. You have the sanctimonious Sloanes, the sidekicks of the Pyes in a sense of self-worth, but without the wit to truly land any blows. There are the pious, sensible Andrews, who have amongst their ranks a few dull people who become self-righteous in an attempt to measure up. There are the generous, jovial Gillises, aware of their reputation and yet not caring a whit; they are good people. There are the Lyndes, quiet, gentle Thomas and brash, nosy, excellent Mrs Rachel. There are the Fletchers and the Boulters, thick as thieves and poorer, but far more resourceful and truly sensible, rather than the Andrews' brand of social pragmatism. They are generous with what they have, gifting the Shirleys some 'hard-wearing baby gowns; these'll see 'em through a good few winter ramblings.' There are the Barrys, who already care for Anne without having met her as they wish for their bookish daughter to meet her equal. And then, of course, are the reticent Cuthberts. The most sensible of the lot - but not in a cruel way - they are no-nonsense in terms of household management in a way that truly helps the Shirleys, with an appreciation for the imagination _at the right time_ , as Marilla tells them after a flight of fancy that nearly involves them both accidentally painting Anne's room the colour of Alexander and Cordelia's, a yellow rose - whereas Anne has set her heart at a blush colour she 'can never wear, so I must be happy with it all around me as I sleep.'

Sweet Matthew, her brother, is shy as anything. He is initially petrified of Anne and Bertha, but when Bertha, Anne and Walter are napping after a day of hard work around the house (although Anne's excited contribution could not strictly be termed 'helping', as she called it) when Cordelia begins to cry. A good man, he doesn't want to wake them up, so he awkwardly holds her, softening up gradually, and Marilla comes in to coddle Alexander, who has been set off by his sister's wailing. Anne wakes up before her parents and comes down the stairs to see the two older people uncomfortably yet lovingly holding her brother and sister on the couch. She plumps herself in between them and smiles.

'Thank you. We are all very grateful to you indeed,' she says through a gap-toothed grin. The Cuthberts' hearts melt, surrounded by the children they never had, and feeling renewed inside somehow. The change in their lives, heralded by the arrival of the young couple, has been agreed by both to perhaps be the antidote to a life of regret. The siblings love each other very much, and the inclusion in this new family is exactly what both knows the other needs.

Lord knows they can both be rather awkward about it all, though.

As the Shirleys are getting used to two babies ( _two babies?_ says Bertha one day. _Goodness me, Walter, wasn't one hard enough?_ she chuckles one day, caressing his cheek with its red 5 o'clock shadow), the Cuthberts, rapidly becoming attached to their kind neighbours, often take Anne. Matthew teaches her about the farm.

'These are chickens, Anne,' he says to the redhead clutching his calloused hand. 'You see these? They're eggs,' he breathes, holding the perfect shell between two fingers and placing it reverently into the basket.

'Like the omelette?' Anne pipes up.

'Yes. Like the omelette.' They spend much of the day in companiable silence, but Anne does ask him what gives him the biggest thrill in life, having seen him with the eggs.

'Well now,' mutters Matthew, he of little words. Instead, he walks her round to the cabbage patch and shows her by rooting out a grub. 'How satisfying,' he smiles, waving it near her face as she giggles delightedly, before dropping it in a bucket. For lunch he'll take her back to Marilla.

'Sit still, child,' Marilla says frustratedly, as Anne wiggles her legs and rapturously describes the grub. 'It was so pale, Marilla, with a squirmy little head!' Marilla gives up trying to place Anne's napkin on her lap and gives her some jam and bread, smirking indulgently at the little thing before her, with a shock of bright red hair and soulful grey-green eyes. She attempts to teach her embroidery, to no avail, until she realises that if she just teaches her the names of the flowers she weaves through her hair Anne will try her damnedest to sew some semblance of it. So Marilla dusts off her father's old encyclopaedia - and even, one day, goes flower picking in the woods. And if she tucks a daisy behind her ear, well, nobody needs to know...


	3. New Friends

The Shirleys and the Cuthberts soon become inseparable; all four adults have lost their parents. The Cuthberts retreated out of society almost completely, and the Shirleys uprooted themselves in pursuit of something more. They have all found a family in each other. The Cuthberts are as good as grandparents to Anne and the twins, who can't remember a time without them.

...

When they have been there a few weeks, Anne and Diana meet. Diana's father owns Barry's pond, on whose banks they now live, between the pond and the forest. When Anne is playing down by the fence (which she must not cross, lest she fall in, _and so say all the parents in her life_ ), Diana is rowed up to the edge by her father, a good-humoured man whom Anne has met a few times when he has called.

'Good morning Anne,' he heartily intones, 'I have brought my Diana with me today as she has expressed quite a bit of interest in meeting you...'

The two girls are already staring at each other, smiling, a meeting of kindred spirits. Diana clambers out of the dory as elegantly as any five year old can.

'Hello Anne.'

'Hello Diana. What a _perfectly_ beautiful name you have!'

'Thank you! What are you playing?'

And with that, a friendship is born.

...

Anne and Diana play together the whole summer, roaming each other's gardens, making flower wreaths, and learning the first reader so they can be ahead together in class. When school finally rolls around, in an Indian summer so warm and hazy it doesn't seem real, they traipse into school together clutching one each of Walter's hands. He sits them together, and shoots a glance at Anne.

 _'Darling,'_

 _'Yes, daddy?'_

 _'You know I think you're special. I adore you. But you must understand that tomorrow, you must not be the only one special to me. I have to support all these children, every single one, equally. Not all have been as lucky as you, with your mummy and I being teachers. That's why I do my job, sweet, so that they know they are supported in their dreams. In there, you are still clever. But, for a few short hours a day, you are not only my daughter. You are my pupil. Do you understand, love?'_

 _'I suppose so, daddy.'_

 _'I love you, Anne.'_

Behind Anne sits Gilbert Blythe, nearly seven and already a confirmed flirt. He hasn't been in Avonlea this summer, visiting family in Alberta. The girls there never said no to his apples and candy. But when Anne Shirley, new girl and teacher's daughter, doesn't even notice him, he begins to suspect that something is amiss.

'Hey Carrots...hey! Hey, Carrots!'

She turns, angrily, grabbing her slate. 'You mean, hateful boy! You have no right to speak to any girl like that!' Catching her father's eye, she lowers her voice halfway through, and stops the motion of her hands before she does something drastic. Ruby Gillis, Gil's biggest victim, nods approvingly; Diana's eyes widen with surprise and pride, and Josie Pye looks smug as anything, ready to spread the story. Jane Andrews has a smirk playing across her lips in the next row over, and this display of support from her friends - minus Josie - makes Anne feel as though she has done the right thing, and her father's wink buoys her spirits. He strolls over, a good-natured look of mischief in his eye.

'And what, Mr Blythe, is wrong with red hair?' he inquires, tugging a lock of his own over his forehead with a grin. Gilbert has been staring at the back of Anne's head with a look of awe - _no girl ever stands up to my teasing...how interesting_ \- but pulls his gaze away to look at his faux-stern teacher.

'N-nothing, Sir...I just wanted to meet her so bad.'

And little Anne, who has no reason for 'the iron to enter her soul' in a world where she is so loved, turns around and says with a grin:

'A simple hello would have done.'


	4. Dreaming Together

A fierce yet friendly rivalry grows up between Anne and Gilbert, and he becomes a fast friend to her, what with Bertha often inviting the children round to play with little Anne. She too recognises the bright spark present that is present in Anne and Diana in Gilbert as well. John Blythe is particularly happy with this arrangement, what with his mischievious son being in the presence of the girl who knocked some sense into him and the most enthusiastic and inclusive teacher Avonlea has ever seen. Eleanor Blythe is less happy about her son being in the presence of the woman who inevitably comes as a parcel with the Shirleys - Marilla Cuthbert. But there is little she can do, as Gilbert becomes more and more set on seeing Anne every day. She is a good woman who loves her son, and thoroughly approves of sweet, flighty Anne, and thus it comes to pass that Anne Shirley, Diana Barry, Gilbert Blythe, Ruby Gillis and Jane Andrews are often seen running through the Blythe Orchard or the Shirley Wood or the Barry fields...

A few years pass; the twins are three, Anne is 7, Gilbert is nearly 9. John Blythe falls ill and his wife, deeply in love with him still, plans to uproot the whole family to Alberta for his health. Yet one look at Gilbert's quivering lips and she is nearly undone; the final nail in the coffin is John begging her 'please, love, let the boy stay. He has a good brain in him and that teacher knows just how to help him.' And so she asks the Shirleys to let Gilbert stay with them, thinking that they will be the best parents for a clever boy like her own.

'It should only be for a few months, Mrs Shirley dear. I'm being cautious about my John but I feel he'll be better very soon-he just needs the Alberta air.'

'Eleanor, darling. You know I would love to take him. I think he's a dear sweet boy. I'll need to give one of the twins the spare room in a few years, but he can stay with us until then, if John needs longer to convalesce. I apologise, I'm rambling... I'm just thinking about what we'll need to do!'

'Bertha, you're a darling!'

'I'll need to talk to Walter, but you know how he adores Gil too...'

Thus it is settled: Gilbert John Blythe is moving in with the Shirleys.

...

The first few days are quite difficult for Walter and Bertha; four children is a handful, despite Gilbert's best attepmts to behave. He misses his parents dreadfully, having never been apart from them for longer than a few days, and they try to support him through both his worry for his father and his yearning for his mother's embrace. Anne and the twins are palmed off on Marilla and Matthew, only too glad to take them on rambles through the fields and to teach them how to 'cook'-and then clean up their flour-dusted surfaces and jam encrusted spoons. Yet for all Anne adores the brook by Green Gables and the grub farm Matthew makes for her from a large glass jar, she finds herself missing Gilbert, holed up in the room next to her own back at her house, and Diana, who is visiting her Aunt Josephine in Charlottetown.

'Mummy, why won't Gilbert play anymore?' she asks in a melancholy tone one day after she returns from Green Gables to try and coax Gilbert to come to Lover's Lane. He wouldn't go with her, and Walter had got rather angry at Anne's demanding tone.

Bertha curls up into bed beside her, remembering her own fiery self, who sometimes forgot what others felt. 'My love, Gilbert is going through something. He doesn't see his parents anymore, little one. Imagine if you had lost us - what would you do?'

Anne remembers a fantasy from earlier that day. 'I would climb up into the cherry tree in the clearing and make a nest for myself, and Gilbert and I would build tiny nests for the twins too!'

'Be serious, darling,' Bertha tries to control her mirth. 'How would you feel?'

'I would miss you very much, mummy. I suppose I would be very sad, as if I had been locked a tall, high tower, with only my grief for company, and nobody understood me anymore and nobody was there. Maybe Gilbert would rescue me, after a while. I would rescue him. I've been trying to - but he just doesn't want me to!'

'Oh love,' sighs Bertha, 'people are different. Gilbert doesn't want you to see him like this. He thinks it would upset you.'

'Well then,' says brusque little Anne in a tone most certainly learnt from Marilla, and hops off the bed.

She charges into Gilbert's room and flops down on the bed beside him, wrapping her arms around his curled frame in a bear hug as Walter and Bertha look in on their daughter and her friend.

'I'm always here Gil. Would you like to go for a walk?'

He gives a wan but truly happy grin, and goes downstairs to pulls on his shoes as they walk off together.

...

'Say, Anne,' whispers Gilbert later that summer. It is early September; tomorrow they and Walter return to school.

'Yes, Gil?' she turns and looks at him. They are lying on a grassy slope in the late evening, swallowed by the tough strands and the hardy wildflowers, all colours yet starting to fade. They are only young, but full of dreams and big words and the heady scent of the flowers around their heads. 'What is it?'

'What would you like to be when you grow up?'

'I would like to be a writer, or a teacher like mummy and daddy. Imagine all the scope for the imagination, living at the beach and letting the waves breathe their salty breaths upon you, carrying all the hopes and dreams of wayfarers of times gone by... Or the way my parents sculpt childrens' minds, giving them all the tools they need to go on and accomplish their dreams...' She trails off, and then remembers herself. 'And you, Gilbert?'

'I believe...perhaps a teacher, for a while - to perhaps pay my way. Your father is very inspiring. But I think that in the end I want to be a doctor.'

Her eyes light up as she sits up and looks at him. 'Oh _Gilbert_ , what a wonderful idea! I can see you doing that very well.' She giggles, imitating a 25 year old Gilbert. 'Sir,' she holds up an imaginary notepad, 'I am pleased to tell you that the surgery has gone very well. How could it not, when performed by yours truly?' She dissolves into giggles, collapsing onto her front, looking up at him. 'What made you think of that?'

'Well, as you know, we spent last summer visiting relatives. On the way back, we went to Uncle Dave's at the Glen for a few days. During that time I saw him save a life, and he told me all about Germ Theory and common types of diseases...Oh Anne, don't look so disgusted! I find this all so interesting! And seeing my father the way he is...it just made me so sure.'

Anne leans into his side, before he stands, gives her a gallant hand up with a mysterious smile, and they make their way back to the Shirley house.


	5. Realisations

As time goes by, Gilbert and Anne grow up. They both grow together and apart; the gender difference is more pronounced as they grow older, which is not how it should be, but it is how society expects it to be, so Anne moves away from long johns and smocks towards longer dresses, she wears her hair tied away from her face and out of braids, and she spends a lot of time dreaming with Diana, her bosom friend. Yet they grow together in other ways; their intellect matches the other's, they spend time on long rambles, and they still have physical contact, which seems so natural to them, as close as they are. Gilbert is still welcome round the Shirley house even after he leaves - and it's a good thing he leaves too, as soon after he leaves Bertha is pregnant again, a little boy born when Anne has just turned 9. His name is Pierre Matthew, for Bertha's maternal grandfather and for the baby's own grandfather, as they have come to think of the Cuthberts. The twins are 5, and sweet and mischievious like their parents.

Cordelia hides her own rascal tendencies behind a face effervescing and fluctuating between innocence and pure delight. She likes to run down along the brook and catch fish; she likes to draw the grassy knolls that run down the slope of the garden to the river and the dragonflies that aimessly hum around. She loses herself in Marilla's encyclopaedia upon her grandmother's knee, learning about every creature and living thing that catches her fancy.

Alexander likes to bury himself in a book, and he takes inspiration from the heroes of the condensed Shakespeare he pores over to trick and disguise himself. He is quiet, and you would not expect it of him, but when he is alone with the Shirleys, the Cuthberts or Gilbert he practically overflows with effusive fantasy about his favourite characters-particularly Benedick. He loves how Benedick is clever and kind but also deeply wrong about some things.

Alexander is already a great studier of humanity; Cordelia devotes herself to the ins and outs of nature.

They start school the September of the year Pierre is born and apply themselves to the arts and the sciences respectively. They can form quite the group with Anne and Gilbert, who can discuss their favourite things with a little one each. With both wanting to be teachers, they find this helps them as they turn 10, 11, 12 to explain things to them, and Gilbert likes consolidating his medical knowledge with a rapt audience in Cordelia.

...

Anne and Diana find a hut in the woods and call it Idlewild; Diana strings tiny candles between the branches and Anne brings little rugs from the Bolingbroke flea market. They make a hotchpotch crockery set from the chipped teacups they find at the back of the cupboards. They like to make simple soups on the fire and sit writing and reading stories to each other until dusk.

Jane and Ruby often show up. They write tragical stories about death and romance together, and practice nursing each other back to health. Ruby likes to pretend the girls are her suitors and practice refusing proposals most graciously; Anne likes to joke about her never knowing if another proposal is around the corner, and so not having the safety to refuse. Diana writes stories of devotion to Anne and Anne writes them in return. Jane writes concise little character studies of the people in the village, and is embarrassed at how easily she is coaxed into renaming them and writing shocking and fantastical love stories between, say Theodora Dix and Ludovic Speed. When they finally do start courting, after around five years of skirting around the issue, the girls squeal at how they have predicted destiny.

The next most frequent visitor is Gilbert, who one day finds the Story Club manuscripts nestled between two rocks in a small box to keep dry. He has a great laugh at their expense, but inside has a niggling feeling of fear at Anne's idea of love that he tries to explain away. He tells himself he's simply worried about her. He tells her, 'Anne. Be serious. Nobody loves like this, and if you expect they will your heart will be broken.' He, of all people, should have known that this would only spur her on. She betrays how much she cares for his opinion in her next few words, but she turns up her perfect little nose, and despite her insecurity she says: 'just you wait, Mr Blythe. I shall have a love story where there _is_ a life threatening illness, _and_ refusals _and_ entanglements _and_ the deep pains of unrequited, _romantic_ love-which clearly _you_ know nothing about. And someday it shall be requited, and I shall be reunited with my love with a devotion so strong _I won't care that you said that_. I shall find a love so deep the story of how it came to be shall be passed down for centuries.'

...

When Anne is 12 and he is just 14, that is when she starts wearing her long red curls down her back, instead of tucked away in her signature plaits. She hasn't started wearing the longer dresses that make her a woman at this point, or tying it up 'most elegantly, not at all like Alice Bell says she will' (as she tells Gil). But this recognition of her femininity shows Gil that she, like him, is in adolescence, that liminal stage where you are too young for most things but too old for others. He fears they will soon be considered too old to go out alone together anymore. On one of their rambles, Gilbert (who has always felt a fondness for Anne above the other girls that he couldn't _quite_ explain) finds himself reaching out to touch a ruddy-gold coil of firey hair. The way it glints in the setting sun, the shade of the trees bringing out the darker tints of auburn underneath the twists of bright tresses that flutter over the top.

'Hey, Carrots,' he breathes when they sit down, twirling a lock of this most entrancing substance round his finger. She glares at him.

'Oh Gil, don't! You know that is the very root of why we argue.' She looks away melodramatically to hide the twinge of hurt she feels when he calls her a perceived insult.

'Anne, I didn't mean anything bad by it.' A suspicious pause from Anne. 'I swear! I think your hair is...' He can't quite find the word.

'Gilbert Blythe! Why must you _torment_ me this way? I knew I shouldn't wear it out of the plaits yet...I knew it would draw attention to my horrid, ugly hair! No one will _ever_ marry me with my Satanic hair! I may never even be a foreign missionary's wife!' She collapses, weeping, murmuring...'Josie Pye...'

Gil clasps his arms about her, chuckling with that practical, caring tone in his laugh. He wipes away her tears. 'What does she say, little Anne?'

'She said...G-God cursed me with my-' here she mimics Josie's smug whine-' 'horrifically orange hair', and that means I'm a child of Satan since my hair is the colour of the fires of hell...'

'Why, Anne,' he smiles, 'we can go talk to Mrs Rachel if you like, as I'm fairly certain Josie made that piece of 'scripture' up on the spot. I've never heard such tosh. She was jealous of you, I'm sure. She always is - your brains, your rather enchanting hair -' here he sweeps a curl behind her ear. They realise how close they are still standing. They move apart, not making eye contact. 'We'll show her how little you care when you walk in on Monday with your hair fanning out behind you proudly. Don't let her heart you, Anne. She's a Pye - and therefore absolutely not worth the effort to talk to unless they're throwing a party...' he trails off, chuckling awkwardly.

She clears her throat. 'I wouldn't mind talking to Mrs Lynde, to be honest. She always tells the truth - and I feel as though the truth may be a balm to my wounded soul. If there truly is no hope for me, I'd much rather get all my crying done today and tomorrow so I don't come to school looking shamefully redfaced on Monday.' They both laugh at her overblown statement, Gil a little harder to hide his realisation. Dear God.

Gilbert John Blythe is in love with Anne Isabella Shirley.


	6. Art Reflects Reality

Gil hasn't a clue what he's supposed to do with this new piece of information, so he tries to brush it off and ignore it. He's learnt the type of love she wants from her Story Club tales; equally, he now knows why he was so against it. If only he hadn't been so adamant she wouldn't have made that ridiculous pledge. _God knows what she'll do to win that bet,_ he thinks, _probably infect some poor unsuspecting poetry lover with typhoid so she can 'nurse his brow'._ _Where do you go from here? What can you do when your best friend has categorically told you she doesn't want what you can offer?_

...

Anne, of course, is completely unaware, and is hotly debating whether Romeo and Juliet is a story of true love or a cautionary tale of young love with her eight year old brother. In the heat of the moment, she has forgotten that he is a precocious eight year old and is treating him as an equal-or, as a precocious 12 year old.

'How can you _say_ that, Alexander? Of _course_ it was true! Her ' _bounty is boundless as the sea,'_ Alex. How can that not be true, when she is willing to give him everything?'

'Maybe so, Anne. But she's known him for five days by the time she kills herself. How ridiculous...' He pushes his glasses up his nose and smiles smugly. Gilbert leans against the fence and watches as he comes to a halt by the Shirley gate.

'Well I, for one, would hope I would give my all to my Romeo.'

'Don't be silly Annie. You're a Beatrice.'

'Beatrice? _Beatrice_? Are you insane, Alex? How on earth am I _Beatrice_?'

'Well, it's not perfect. You are certainly more obvious about your romantic dreams than she is, but deep down you are both romantics. And you are both clever and independent. And you both bicker with your future husband,' he says mischieviously, spying Gilbert and running away into his room.

Anne turns to see him there. 'Gil! Goodness. Did you hear him? What on Earth could he be taking about?'

Gil, who caught the meaningful glance clever Alexander threw him, merely shrugs his shoulders to hide the pang in hs chest and says 'I don't know Anne. Have you started courting already?' He nudges her side, and they both fall into fits of laughter, sitting down together on the verandah step.

'M- _me_?' Anne part-screams through hysterics. 'Who in this town would ever love _me_?'

Gilbert immediately stops laughing and gives her a weak smile; she stops laughing soon after and looks at him. He looks away, before grabbing her hand, pulling her onto the lane and into the woods.

...

Matthew, Marilla, Walter and Bertha are having tea together during all this. They look out of the window to see where the shrieking is coming from and are not surprised to see Anne. They are not surprised either to see the meaningful look that passes between the two. A look is shared round the room, saying _that'll be a match, one day_.


	7. Questions

**A/N- Thanks to all who have read and reviewed! It's still so odd looking at all your view counts and realising people actually read your stuff... Seriously, I wanted to say I really appreciate your encouragement. I also need to say this-I have just entered a new school, a new stage of my life. Whilst writing is one of my passions, so is passing my exams and getting to uni, so please bear with me and my erratic posting! You are all wonderful. Enjoy 3**

Gil tugs Anne's hand as she runs behind him into the woods, keeping pace, her wild hair streaming out behind her and wrapping around her flushed face. He stumbles just looking at her, and brings her with him into a mossy patch of ground.

'Oof!'

'Gil? Are you alright? Oh, Gil,' Anne's voice is full of mirth, 'watch where you're going, you big oaf,' she says from her position on top of him, jabbing him in the ribs, and squirming to get off him. He exhales shakily, and releases her. They both sit up, chuckling, but she is still curled into his side, her legs over his, their faces close together...

Anne looks away, flushing red for a whole different reason than physical exertion. Gil asks 'are you hurt?' and she replies, 'Gilbert, you're such a good friend.'

His heart is crushed.

'I'm fine,' she continues, 'although I suppose you'd be a much better friend if you didn't pull innocent girls to the floor.' She turns away haughtily, a hint of a smile flashing across her face before she rearranges it into an expression more suited to her melodramatically wounded pride. She turns around when Gil doesn't laugh like she expects, and he is instead laid flat on his back, arms folded over his eyes. 'What's wrong?' she says, immediately fearful for him.

'Nothing,' he returns, from behind the shelter of his arms. He falls silent, the lower half of his face offering her a weak smile. Pragmatic Gilbert never acts like this, so she's not sure what to say. While formulating a reply, she trails her eyes over his form-the shirt pulled tight over his lean but defined arms and torso, the knees drawn up...when he peeks over his forearm to see why she hasn't said anything, he catches her gawking at his figure. _Perhaps there is hope after all..._

...

Nevertheless, Anne's reaction to his body unnerves her, and she spends even more time with her darling Diana than before, unsure of how to respond when Gil invites her fishing. He feels her drawing away as he says the words 'you and me', so asks her to invite the girls along. 'In fact, why don't I ask the boys? We can make a real jaunt out of it?' He curses himself for being so desperate to spend time with her he'll invite the whole class. He can't imagine why she's pulled away lately-he doesn't think he scared her when they fell.

In October, the fishing trip two weeks in the making materialises. The burnished leaves turn their faces from the sun, ripening and drifting softly to the ground, where they are mercilessly trampled by a group of overexcited children lugging tack to Barry's Pond. Anne and Gilbert linger at the back, she chattering with delight about the warm palette of autumn, him teasing her about how 'every season is your favourite, Anne.'

She knows he's teasing, so responds in kind. 'Why, Gilbert John, every season has something to offer, has _scope for the imagination_. But I can imagine someone so unromantic as you only likes the autumn for the harvest time,' she laughs with a mischievious grin.

He turns and fixates her with an odd gaze that leaves her with a strange tingle. 'I can be romantic, Anne.'

She doesn't know what quite to say. 'Th-that's very nice to hear, Gilbert.'

'I'll try it on you, perhaps. You can be the Rosalind to my Orlando, but help me practise my addresses, not forget them.'

It is not lost on Anne that the ultimate fate of those characters is marriage, but who is she to prevent the growth of a romantic mindset? And would she even _be_ Anne Shirley is she did not accept a challenge from Gilbert Blythe?

'Very well then, Sir,' she says with no small amount of awkwardness, 'I shall be your spirit guide.' She bobs him a curtsey.

Later that day, when she is sitting with Diana around the fire, and they are talking amongst themselves about Charlie Sloane's goggly eyes - _they're about ready to fall out of his head, Anne! -_ when Gilbert draws near to them, a wreath of flowers in his hand. He perches on a log next to their own, and leans into Anne's ear, whispering 'what good is a spirit guide without a fairy crown?' He places the flowers atop her curling tangle of hair, flickering brighter in the firelight, and Charlie Sloane's eyes boggle out as if on springs inside his head at the sight.

...

The day before Diana's 13th birthday she, Anne, Ruby and Jane are at Idlewild in the late afternoon of October. Diana is talking about how her ideals of a man are changing as she turns into a young woman. As the eldest of them all, they all nod sagely to her advice, eagerly hanging on to every word. But, though she tries to be outwardly supportive, Anne is waging an internal war. She has been sensing this in Diana a lot lately, the way she looks to Fred Wright across the classroom, the way she laughs at his jokes and the way she twists her hair around her finger when she talks to him, her bright and beautiful gaze darting nervously over his face. When they leave to go home, she speaks to her mother about it.

'Why doesn't Diana cling to her ideals as I do?'

'We raised you differently, little one. We wanted you to know we would support you in whatever you chose, so we allowed you to dream as you would. Diana's parents sometimes check that for an equally good reason-they don't want her to be disappointed. But sometimes I think you are too idealistic-'

' _Too idealistic_? How can you _say_ such a thing, Mummy?'

'Because I'm afraid you'll drive Diana away, precious. Ideals change, darling. They change with you. They are so deeply personal to you that they should. How else will they stay relevant to you all your life?'

From the corner, Marilla nods her assent, looking up from her knitting. 'I agree with your mother, little Anne. I hate to be blunt-' here she gives a knowing smile that Bertha grins at and Anne gives a sad smile to-'but I can't see you with the 'melancholy' man of your dreams. How would he support your liveliness? How would he make you laugh? How would he keep you grounded when you fly too high, and keep you dreaming when you dip too low? I want you to have the best in life, Anne-but I don't know that that _is_ what's best.'

Anne leaves later that evening, the sun glinting off the pines, to cool the bottle of raspberry cordial Marilla carefully gives her in the brook by Idlewild and to place the cake she lovingly baked first into a box, and then under the roots of the tree to keep it cool and safe for when she brings Diana tomorrow for a surprise. She has matches for the candles on the cake, but uses them to also light the candles Diana has strung round the den. She sits there, contemplating the words of the women who know her best.

 _Who_ would _be the best for me,_ Anne ponders. _Who does make me laugh? I suppose Marilla's right. 'I dearly love to laugh,' says Elizabeth Bennet, and so do I. But Elizabeth would not marry for anything but the deepest love. I always thought my Romeo would be my deepest love-but when does Juliet laugh for him? When does she do anything but sigh for him? When did Romeo ever consider what she wanted? He killed her_ cousin, _for goodness' sake! Perhaps Gilbert and Alexander have a point about that play._

 _Gilbert. He does all these things Marilla describes for me. But how can I ever be in love with him? He doesn't have a romantic bone in his body._

The memory of the flower crown incident niggles at her memory.

 _Well yes, but wasn't he parodying me? Or was he truly asking for my assistance in romance?_ Is he in love with someone? _He is only 14. How can he be?_

With these questions running around her head, Anne fails to notice a candle drop from the string and light the dry autumnal bracken outside the propped up planks of Idlewild.


	8. Gratitude

**A/N- just finished writing that last bit and realised the best way to increase traffic would be to leave you hanging there for a while. But I just want to write. And I want to tell you this story. So, here you are! 3**

Gilbert is strolling through the forest in an uncharacteristic depression when he hears a crackle and spit and smells a wisp of smoke coming from the direction of Idlewild. He follows it, remembering the ridiculous candles Diana is so fond of, and soon sees a wall of fire sprouting progressively around the makeshift hut.

'Damnit!' he cries.

A scream pierces the air. A blurry, blackened figure comes hurtling towards him, shouting his name.

'Anne? Anne?'

A sensible girl at heart, she runs to the path and rolls over the trodden mud, the smouldering embers in her jacket hissing out at the contact with the damp. She is coughing, a hacking, ugly cough he cannot bear to hear. He holds her, and she passes out in his arms, her wide, panicked eyes searching his before they go glassy, her chest still heaving for breath.

He wraps her up in his own coat before running to the brook. He fortuitously finds the 'raspberry cordial', and tips it out. It smells vaguely alcoholic, and Gilbert randomly thinks, in the way you do in a moment of panic, _she dodged a bullet by not drinking that-it must be Marilla's currant wine._ He fills the large bottle and the tumblers to the brim and douses the base of the fire until it is out-but Idlewild is a smoky, hazy disaster zone. He looks up to see Anne weakly struggling to sit. Her eyes fill with tears at the sight of Idlewild, but she sees his tall figure crumpled and exhausted by the den she rushes-stumbles- over to him as well as she can, falling down beside him. She takes his head into her lap.

'Gil!' For once, she is lost for words. 'Gil.'

He reaches out for her arm, and breathes heavily, stroking it in his heavy winter coat. She follows his hand with her gaze, before hastily shrugging his coat off and laying it over him. For a few minutes they sit like that as the smoke settles, staring into each others eyes and taking deep pulls on the evening air.

'You saved me,' she says into their rare silence, into the small space between their faces, him drinking her in, staring up at her like she's an angel, her gazing down at him with wonder and realisation in her eyes.

'No. You saved yourself.' His hand moves from where it was resting on her arm to move to her cheek. Both of their breathing speeds up.

'I would have died if it weren't for you.'

'You were on the path; the fire would have stopped before it got to you because of the damp.'

'Don't do this, Gilbert Blythe. You helped me greatly. I shall always be indebted to you. Besides,' she tries to inject some humour into the conversation, 'I believe I just taught you your first lesson. That was like something out of a novel! Beautifully romantic.'

She may have said the wrong thing. 'In no romantic novel you've ever read me has the heroine been quite so extraordinarily brave,' he replies. 'You are a real woman - not some caricature from your books.'

'Who am I, then?'

'Elizabeth Bennet. Beatrice. Rosalind. Viola. Marianne Dashwood. Marian Halcombe. But most of all? You.'

He sits up, regretfully, and reaches for her hand to fill the void that opens up inside at the loss of her touch. His other hand reaches back for her face.

He looks into it, and realises that there with the admiration and the love shining through her features, there is a youthful innocence and fear of what he may do next. It is then that he remembers that despite her intelligence, her maturity and her kindness - she is only 12. And he is 14 - older, yes. But also too young. So he stands, swings her into his arms, and sets off on the two minute walk to the Shirley house, cradling her to his chest like the most precious treasure of all. And of course, to him, that is what she is.

...

'Mr Shirley!' Gilbert kicks the door open, an Anne suddenly faint from smoke inhalation lying prostrate in his arms. 'Mr Sh-WALTER!' he shouts, remembering his stay with the Shirleys when Walter was a second father.

'Gilbert? Whatever is the mat-' Walter, hurtling down the stairs, sees Gilbert holding his little girl. He clears everything off the table and Gilbert lies her down, rushing into the living room for blankets and cushions. When he returns to the kitchen, Walter is already boiling water and Bertha is by her daughter's side, Cordelia is coming down the stairs with brown-haired, three year old Pierre in her arms, and sensitive Alexander is looking ashen, sitting at the top of the stairs and clutching the bannister till his knuckles turn white, peering through the bannister with eyes half shut as if he both wants to check on his sister but can't bear to see the consequences. Cordelia lays her cool hand on Anne's forehead as Walter makes tea to soothe Anne's throat. He adds cold water to cool the boiling water so he can clean her face, and sits with a handkerchief gently rubbing the soot away from her eyes and mouth first, tilting her head up to drink her tea when it's cool enough. With Walter taking care of Anne, Bertha turns her attention to Gilbert. Gilbert feels as though he is intruding, and turns to leave before Cordelia says, 'you mustn't, Gil. Tell us what happened.'

A brief version of the story comes out as he is enfolded in one of Mrs Lynde's apple leaf quilts with his hands curved gratefully around a piping mug of tea. Bertha comes and embraces him, and as Matthew comes in to read a bedtime story with Anne to the younger three she sends him-after letting him kiss Anne's forehead-straight back out and down to the Blythe farm to notify Gil's parents.

'No, no, Mrs Shirley! I don't want to impose. I'll just go home-it's not far...'

'Nonsense, young man,' Bertha says affectionately, kissing his brow. 'You'll stay here, That's what I'm sending Matthew to tell your mother and dad.'

'Where shall I sleep?'

'Well, currently the boys are in one room with Anne in one and Cordelia in the smaller... you could go in Cordelia's room and Cordelia can go in with Anne, I suppose.'

Gilbert is aware of propriety, but he wishes things could go back to the old way, when he lived here, when he and Anne would have sleepovers and late night rambles in the garden.

'Thank you! But only if Cordelia is alright with it?'

'Fine,' she sighs, 'but only for you, Gil.'

Gilbert trudges up the stairs to Cordelia's room having wiped the soot off himself, disposed of his muckier clothing and obtained one of Walter's nightgowns from the closet. He falls ungracefully into the cosy bed, nesting into the eiderdowns and blankets like a bear. A few hours later, he is awakened by a tiny light shining out from a taper, showing the pale face of Anne.

'What are you doing out of bed?' he demands in a whisper, sitting up immediately.

'I feel much better, I swear...'

Softening towards the girl he loves, as he always has and always will, he gently ribs her. 'Playing with fire again, are we?'

A gentle and radiant smile lifts her lips. Then, unexpectedly, she blows out the candle. 'Better?' she hoarsely murmurs, throat thick with smoke.

'Not really,' says a very pleased Gilbert, hating himself all along. He just wants her to stay-not for anything nefarious or improper. He hasn't even thought about that-ever, really. But he wants to be with her. All the time. But he sighs, 'go back to bed, you idiot.'

'I wanted to say thank you again. I think I fainted before I could really express my gratitude.'

'What a good job you did! Another life dream achieved...'

She sits on the edge of the bed, and thus he feels her shiver. 'Cold?'

'Very,' she replies. There is a moment where a decision is being made, and then the covers are being turned back and she slips in next to him. He stiffens. 'Did I do something wrong?'

'This isn't exactly proper, Anne.'

'We used to do this all the time!'

'And now we're too old for it. Believe me, I wish things were like they used to be, when we could just enjoy each other's company without any fear. But now...we can't. And you, you have a sister to keep warm.'

So she leans in, kisses his cheek, and leaves, fleet footed.

He touches his cheek as he falls back to sleep.

 **A/N: look at their sweet, innocent, tween love. I do think LMM's story is the best one and I wouldn't have it any other way-but I do love stories where they've been friends forever. Also-it's that rare teenage boy who's satisfied by** ** _a kiss on the cheek._** **Get you a man who loves you enough for that. You deserve it.**

 **You ever been in love with someone and they're fictional and you can never have them and you're heartbroken? That's Gilbert, for me.**


	9. A Birthday

Diana's birthday dawns, clouds scudding across the warm autumn sky, the sun lighting the bright leaves so they are almost iridescent against the dull grey sky behind them. Early that morning, a dizzy Anne wakes early, bakes another cake, and dresses warmly to skip over to Diana's. She knocks at the Barry homestead, the door answered by a tired and confused Andrew Barry in his nightgown.

'May I see the birthday girl?' chirps a cheery Anne, sounding gravelly but better.

'I'll wake her,' says Andrew resignedly, knowing that the one person Diana would wake up for during a lie in is the effervescent redhead in front of him.

A few minutes later, an excited but sleepy Diana comes staggering down the staircase to be met with chatter from her bosom friend.

'Oh _Diana_ , I do declare you look different already! You are beautiful, darling,' - and with that she kisses her - 'and I made you this! It's rather a long story, dearest. I'm afraid I have some bad news. I was out at Idlewild last night preparing you a party with raspberry cordial and a cake I had simply _slaved_ over for _days_ , but I lit the candles so I could sit there and think - and the whole den was set on fire! So I ran headlong out of it and then Gil-Gilbert put out the fire and carried me home and we had both inhaled rather a lot of smoke so he stayed over and I woke up at 5 o'clock to make you another cake!' Anne's voice is tired by this point, so she takes a few deep breaths, at which point Diana says:

'Anne, are you alright? Is Gil alright?'

'Yes, I believe he just needs his sleep! How do you like it, Diana?'

'Anne, please, calm down. I'm so glad you're fine!' She runs round the table to embrace her friend.

'I have another present for you,' Anne says when they break apart. She produces a beautifully wrapped gift. It is a homemade frame of pressed flowers and birchwood, Diana's favourite - 'whittled by Gilbert,' Anne says, 'it's from us both' - and inside is a professional picture cut out from the newspaper that visited to celebrate Walter's achievement as Avonlea schoolmaster. 'It's our class!' Anne bubbles over with excitement, and Diana hugs her from the side, kissing the top of her head.

'I love you, Anne.'

'I love you too, Di.'

Diana soon ushers Anne back to the Shirley house to go back to sleep, with a promise to come by for her and Gilbert later with Jane and Ruby. They are going to go on a ramble together.

 **A/N: I have always loved Diana, and think she deserved more focus later in the books-although she lived nowhere near Anne, so fair enough! But I did think she was dumbed down-her most prominent character trait was originally her bookishness, and I also feel as though if there was never a Haunted Wood incident and then Diana's mother preventing her from going to Queen's she would have been equally clever and imaginative as Anne-if a little more sensible when it came to boys! Leave comments in appreciation of Diana :)**


	10. The Garden

Their ramble leads all five of them to a fence.

'Let's turn back,' says Jane.

'I wonder what's over it,' says Ruby.

'Let's walk around and see if there's a gate,' says Diana.

'Let's climb it,' say Anne and Gil.

In the end they go with Di's suggestion, and round only one corner is a rusted, wrought iron gate. Gil carefully unlatches and pushes it open, hearing the long, grating screech of unused hinges. They all process into this overgrown paradise of autumn widlflowers, heady sepia and fringed by the pines. Anne runs to the centre, spins, yells.

'What _is_ this place?'

Ruby, gossipmonger, has an idea. She thinks it might belong to Hester Gray, brought over by Jordan from Boston. They were very much in love.

Gil looks at Anne. She shoots him a sideways glance. They make eye contact andthen look away, blushing.

'Oh look!' shouts Diana, joyfully. 'Birches!' She runs off to play at being Titania in them, sitting in the crook of two branches and gazing out at all below. 'My subjects!' she proclaims. 'Thou shalt all follow my bidding! Gilbert, Anne - run and fetch me a bouquet. Jane, Ruby - attend to me.' She passes the back of her hand across her forehead and swoons. 'My love...when shall he return?'

'I don't know...when will Fred return?' Gil whispers to her as he leaves with Anne, to a swat from the birthday girl.

Giggling, Jane and Ruby attend their 'queen', determining their characters as ladies in waiting. Ruby wishes to have all the rich beaux; Jane wishes to serve her queen faithfully and attend court to see how all the other fairies act. Jane Andrews has a wicked sense of humour deep down.

Anne and Gilbert leave to a nook in the garden where they see some flowers in their last blooms, They are full, ripe, ready to drop. When they pick them, the petals fall down like confetti between them. When their hands touch a shock goes through them as if pricked. Anne has a talent for getting into scrapes, and naturally she does prick herself on the thorns of the blackberry brambles. It's a nasty one, running down the side of her forefinger into the web of skin between it and her thumb, and her sharp intake of breath indicates pain even if she is _not going to cry._

Gilbert gently takes her hand, and using the tissue he packed for just such an occasion - _Gil, you're so prepared. What an excellent doctor you shall make! -_ he gently dabs away the scarlet blood and bandages her hand with such care she forgets her pain. Their heads are both bowed over her hands, their hair brushing and connecting in a haze.

When they look up, their faces are inches away from each other.

Hazel meets grey-green, chestnut meets red.

Forehead meets forehead.

'Gil! Anne! Where are you? Our queen needs her bouquet,' hollers Jane from the other end of the garden.

They break apart, but he is still holding both her hands. He releases the wounded one but keeps a tight grip on the other as they make their way back to their queen.

...

The thing is, all of this doesn't really change anything. Not for Anne, anyway. They've always been closer than close; she assumes this is how male/female friendships are. She feels a frisson from him when he touches her - but is that not just the meeting of kindred spirits? He touches her face - but isn't it so she doesn't look like a mess? She still thinks of the flower crown moment - but wasn't that so she would tutor him in how to win over some girl? To Anne, who has been in love with him since she was tiny, there is never a 'falling in love moment,' no 'lightning strike' - because it already struck her, and she doesn't know any other way to live.

To Gilbert, more self-aware, it had been obvious when he was 14. To Anne at 15, however, it was still not clear.

The spring of Anne's 15th birthday was a beautiful one. Lush, verdant. Gil tells her the light green leaves and grey bark of the birches contrast with the red of the soil so that the island looks exactly like her. 'Copycat,' she laughs joyfully, not sure why warmth runs through her at this comment, but she tells her parents and the Cuthberts this sentiment with such glee they can hardly be unsure who said it. She and the rest of the quartet still run wild through the woods and are now allowed on to the beach. Gil will often come too, Charlie, Fred and Moody in tow. Most frustratingly, Josie comes and tries to monopolise Gil's time. Anne feels fury. She doesn't know why.

Walter is still in his job after 11 years. It is truly odd. He doesn't care. He says it keeps him young; he revels in it: all four of his abnormally clever children are in his school, and he has an extensive circle of family and friends. He finally capitulates to Anne's demands, however, and lets them study Tennyson. Anne, of course, wants to study the Lady of Shallott. She enlists her friends to reenact it so they can understand the story better. She begs Ruby to be Elaine, but she nearly gets hysterical, so moves onto Diana and then Jane, all of whom are too scared. So Anne flips her hair back behind her shoulders and lets Jane, with a knack for arrangement, cover her in her shroud and move her hair the way she wants it. Soon Anne is floating off down Barry's Pond, but the batting ripped off the bottom means the boat begins to sink.

Anne cannot swim. She knows the theory, but has never been allowed to try it. She kicks and kicks, but resigns herself to the idea that the first time to try swimming is not when ensconced in your most romantic dress-all its puffs and flounces fill with water and drag her down. It is all she can do to get to the column of the bridge and cling on.

Then Gil comes rowing towards her.

'Anne,' he nods affably, before pretending to row past as if nothing were out of the ordinary.

'GILBERT BLYTHE, IF YOU LEAVE ME HERE I SHALL TELL YOUR MOTHER!'

Gilbert starts frantically paddling back towards her even more quickly than he had before. 'I wasn't gonna, Anne, I swear it!'

She glares at him, proudly but ineffectively clambering into the dory. 'Row, Gilbert. Just row.'

A comfortable pause passes. For once, Gil is the first to break it. 'What _were_ you just doing?'

'Fishing...for lake trout.'

'You were reenacting Elaine, weren't you!'

'You know me too well, Gilbert Blythe. Yes, I suppose I was.'

'So, in that case, I rescued you...'

'You look too smug, Gilbert. What do you want?' He grins. ' _What, Gil_?' she says in a warning tone.

'I'm trying to think of a suitable punishment.'

She tosses her hair behind her shoulders, leans back, and sighs, unable to keep a smirk off her face at his antics. However, without her hair covering her, he can see her sodden dress clinging to her. He gulps, mouth suddenly dry.

'You, Miss Shirley, have to let me give you swimming lessons.'

'Well, I suppose it's a valuable life lesson. Yes, I shall take this punishment in good temper as I believe it benefits me more than you, Mr Blythe.'

 _We shall see about that._

...

Gilbert's restraint in the early years of his love for Anne has all but vanished recently, with the advent of a) sexual awakening, b) teenage recklessness and c) knowledge of better hiding places. He will never hurt her or force her to do anything she didn't want to do, but if she is up for swimming lessons, he is not going to turn that opportunity down. And thus they decide that their first lesson shall be in Barry's Pond-on their side of it, and _nowhere_ near Mrs Barry or any of their parents. He meets her on a sweltering day in mid-May. She is in an old chemise with longish sleeves, but he can see her knees.

'I-er, I think we'll try movements first, Anne.'

'How do you mean?'

'Jump in!'

They bomb in together, and then he guides her to a log sticking out from the bank. He tries to just lead her by the wrist, but her panicked kicking means her leg brushes his several times. He shivers, but not from the temperature of the water.

'So-have you got a good grip on the log? Are you sure? I don't want you to get hurt-'

'Gilbert, shut up and teach me how to kick.'

'Right. Erm-alternate your legs, a little like walking. Try really flicking your toes. Can you make a splash?'

'Yes.'

'Not in my face, Anne!'

The rest of the lesson passes with no awkwardness and many bouts of laughter.


	11. A New Epoch

**A/N: Hello people! Many many apologies for the gap of about two months... I did say that school was getting difficult but clearly I did not anticipate the extent to which it would, as basically immediately after the last chapter I suddenly plunged off an A-level cliff edge. I'm really sorry, and I'll try to be a bit more regular in my posting. Hope you all understand :)**

Early June, and Anne and Gil are on another swimming excursion at Barry's Pond. She's graduated from the log to the shallows, but an element of her ecstatic nature often comes back to bite her when she gets far too distracted by the shimmer of a little fish or the slow prowl of the lake trout come to bask in the sun. She dabbles her toes in the sand of the river bed and watches it drift upwards; sometimes Gil turns around to ask her how she's doing only to see a ripple where she once was. He'll dip below the surface to see her staring in rapturous joy at the wildlife on the lake floor.

'Gil, you don't understand - I've never been swimming before! This is a whole new _world_ I haven't experienced before!'

Of course, he absolutely indulges her. 'Look, this here is a...' Sometimes Cordelia and Alexander come along and he teaches them too, particularly an inquistive Cordelia. Anne and Alexander sit on the banks and discuss nature and the way it makes them _feel_ , but Gil and Cordelia discuss the way it _works._ And then, of course, at the end of the day there is an information exchange between the four, Pierre toddling down from the house to join them and kick his little six year old feet in the clear waters. It's not exactly the way Gilbert pictured spending time in the water with Anne, but this is infinitely better.

It doesn't sate his desire for time alone with her, however.

'Hey Carrots,' he says one day. 'How would you feel about taking another dory trip as the Lady of Shallott now you can swim?'

She glares in response to the nickname, but there's no malice in it. 'I'd like that very much, Gil, if you're offering.' The twins are off with Pierre, helping him paddle, but share a secret glance at Anne's response, very pleased with it. 'When would you like to go?'

'It's midsummer, Anne. How about this evening?'

She's taken aback, but very pleased and doesn't know why. 'Very well then, Oberon. See you at five o'clock.'

'Titania,' he bows, 'I shall be the very spirit of punctuality.' _My queen,_ he thinks with several furtive looks at her as they all make their way back to the Shirley homestead.

When they reach the door, Walter opens it with a massive grin, holding a letter in his hand. 'Anne, Gil! Just the people I wanted to see. Guess who can enter you at Queens?'

Anne and Gil are immediately interested. 'That's fantastic, Dad! What will we have to do?'

'I'll ask the class to see how many want to do it and if we'll need to hold it at the school, but essentially there'll be an after-school class most nights to get you up to speed, before we send you off for the entrance exam in March time. The results should come through around this time next year for you to start. You can take your teaching license if you want or you can get a scholarship for Redmond!' Youthfully excited, Walter gives a little jump before running to embrace the two of them. 'Your lives start now, my friends!' he effuses, holding them tight, before leaping off to tell Bertha and the Cuthberts the great news at Green Gables, clutching Pierre in his arms as he runs across the field, trailing Cordelia and Alexander - who have strategically left Anne and Gilbert alone.

They exhale together, left hugging only each other from when Walter had drawn them into his embrace and then abruptly left. They have moved closer together, looking up at the hill the Shirleys are scaling to get to Green Gables. When they turn back to face each other, their faces are as close as they were on the day of the Idlewild fire - only this time, there is something there. Tension.

Gilbert unconsciously moves his face a little towards her own, and Anne responds in kind, their eyes boring into each other. Their foreheads meet. They stay like this for ten seconds, an eternity, before Anne gently extricates herself. She shivers; Gilbert misunderstands.

'Anne, I'm sorry. I...'

'No, Gil... I'm cold. My clothes are damp and it's getting a little cooler-' she lies, it's only 3pm on the 21st of June, but _what are these feelings?_ 'I'm going to go and get into some dry clothes. Do-do you want a towel?' She touches the wet coils of his hair and his hand slides around her waist involuntarily. She shivers again. 'Uh - come on in! You might as well stay until we go out later...' Reluctantly, she moves towards the open door and away from him, the light hitting her hair in such a way that he sighs, chokes, coughs, before bounding in after her.

Their first stop, moving together, still connected at the hands, is the airing cupboard, filled with crisp, warm towels for him to use. Then he moves to the oven to boil some water for the tea and she unlinks their fingers one by one before scrambling upstairs to get changed. By the time she returns he's curled up on the sofa, hair in a towel turban and sipping his tea. But she's dressed for their later trip to the pond for the Lady of Shallott, yet her hair is down to dry faster. He sees an angel, lit by the summer sun, hair flowing down her shoulders in her longest, prettiest dress.

She moves shyly to the sofa and sits down next to him, their gaze never breaking. His hand reaches out to touch hers. This may be the longest they've ever spent without talking, yet it's not particularly awkward. His legs extend, and he moves to sit upright and twists to sit next to her. They sit there on the sofa, still looking at each other.

'Anne?'

She smiles and leans into him as she has done so many times before. Her head rests on his shoulder, nestled into him perfectly. Yet this feels liminal, the transition between normality to something new. He slowly turns his head, and kisses her hair, her forehead, her nose. Her face raises itself towards his.

The front door bangs open. 'Anne!' Her mother and grandmother's voices chorus excitedly through the house. 'You're going to Queens! And Redmond!'

They spring apart, but she's still looking at him as she is swept into the embrace of her family.

'Gilbert! You too! Both of you, I'm so proud of both of you,' declares Bertha, reaching out for him too.

And thus it is decided - Anne and Gil are headed to Queens.


	12. Midsummer

So here they were, one week later. Walter's first Queens class, attended by Anne, Gilbert, Jane, Ruby, Josie, Charlie, Moody, and, after a slog on Bertha's part, Diana Barry.

 _'Please, Agatha. Diana has such an agile mind. Imagine if she were to be able to make her way in the world, through teaching or study. She would be so capable. I know you want her to learn the arts of the home, but she's made such an excellent start with them as well. We both know what Diana wants is to go to Queens and make something of herself - she's your daughter! I don't presume to tell you what's best for her, Agatha, but I am a teacher as well, and I can recognise talent and she has it. Please let us help to make her happy...'_

 _'You say you do not presume to tell me what's best, but you clearly do. Every word of that was instruction on how to raise_ my _daughter. I will talk it over with my husband, I suppose, but do not hope for the best.'_

Of course, Mr Barry adored his daughter, and the reinforcement of the teachers' favourable opinions allowed him to back her up. And so it was that Diana Barry remained after school to try her hand at Euclid - which Anne was thankful for, Diana always being one of the better at numbers under Walter's tutelage, and Anne's steadfast helper in the wild, confusing world of geometry. Gilbert would always help her with science...

She gazes wistfully at him, to her left and to the front. He shifts as if sensing her gaze, briefly turning his head to make burning eye contact with her across the room. She looks down immediately, face the colour of her hair.

Diana nudges her, her bright and intelligent look containing all the pragmatism of an observant matchmaker. 'Say, Anne. What's going on there?' she whispers a little suggestively.

'Diana Barry! Why, that is none of your business,' she replies, mock-scandalised. 'I'll tell you later,' she mutters into Di's ear with a conciliatory smirk.

Walter, being absolutely clueless about the intrigues of his students, as evidenced by his abandoning Anne and Gil at Midsummer, puts natural sciences as first on the agenda. He's an excellent and perceptive teacher about his students' problems, both personal and academic, but has absolutely no idea about anything remotely romantic between any of them - and so Anne and Gil end up working together because her father is completely obtuse as to the politics of who helps who and who likes who.

Diana would have liked to go with Fred as her second choice after Anne anyway, but her determination to see her friends together makes her go straight to him when Walter tells them to pick their partners for the dissection. 'Think about it Anne - neither of us would want to touch that frog. It's logical that we don't go together - to maximise our productivity, of course. Go with Gil - doesn't he normally help you with science?' She presses Anne's hand and pushes her towards a timid and shifty Gilbert, running his hands through his hair and throwing longing and pained looks in Anne's direction.

...

 _Midsummer Night, 5pm_

 _'Anne?' Bertha calls up the stairs. 'Gil wants to know if you still want to go boating now.'_

 _A clattering comes from above. Gil and Bertha have been happily chatting in the kitchen with Marilla. Walter has been up at Green Gables helping out Matthew, whose heart has been giving him trouble. Walter helps to take the strain off him, and he's getting much better. In the kitchen, the three have been discussing courses at Queens and the financial viability of Redmond post-school. Gil predicts needing to teach for at least one year._

 _Anne hurtles down the stairs, pulling on her boots as she comes. 'Yes,' she replies simply and breathlessly, sitting on the bottom step._

 _'Let's go then,' breathes a very happy Gilbert._

 _She hasn't done anything with her hair._ It's just Gil, _she tells herself._ He won't care, _she thinks. Deeper down, she remembers that he likes her hair down. She tries not to consider whether that was her reason for leaving it down._

 _They head out to the dory, leaving the door open to a very beautiful, sunny evening. Gil races ahead to the pond to sort everything out and 'check for leaks,' he says mischieviously, getting a swat. Anne would follow him immediately but needs to tie her left lace. She sits on the verandah at watches him, but hears voices from inside the kitchen. They evidently think she followed him._

 _'Bertha,' Marilla's wise voice floats out from within, 'Lord knows I love them both, and I want them to make a match of it as much as the rest of this town.' Anne harrumphs; she has always liked not exactly meeting everyone's expectations. 'But she's still a child._ He's _still a child, my dear. I'm not criticising you allowing her out by any means; it's a beautiful day and she deserves to enjoy it. But are you sure this isn't all happening too fast?'_

 _'I trust Anne, Marilla. She'll tell me everything anyway, but I don't think she's going to do anything crazy. We'll just have to wait and see - and look at Mrs Barry: if you try to place too many restrictions on a child they'll rebel. I'd rather Anne told me what she was going to do and even if I didn't agree, then at least I knew, than have her going all places at all hours without me even knowing.'_

 _Anne is thankful for her mother, not for the first time, and thankful for Marilla's care too._

 _'Well then, darling, that's good enough for me,' she hears the older woman say. So she hightails it down to the dory with abandon, but the atmosphere is a little ruined for her by their comments about her age. She is only 15. He is only 16. They have a very valid point._

 _She is too young! Too young to make these kinds of decisions, surely! What happened to her ideal man? What if the road she's been travelling down today takes her away from her dark, melancholy hero - just because Gilbert Blythe's hair happens to look quite gorgeous when wet? Marilla and her mother are right. She mustn't do anything crazy._

 _When Gilbert turns around to see Anne again, she is sitting behind him, tapping her feet expectantly. Her hair is tied up now, a few wisps hanging down her pale cheeks. The quietly eager Anne of the afternoon is gone; this Anne is adventurous. Of course he loves her just as much this way - but he senses that this Anne will perhaps not be quite as receptive to his advances as the other. His heart sinks._

 _'Well, the dory has been patched up perfectly competently by yours truly,' - he makes a mock bow - 'and we're ready to set off on our long and arduous journey, Elaine!' He forces himself to be jovial and joking as he normally is, to hide the pain he feels. 'Hop in!'_

 _Anne feels less nervous, certainly; a weight has been lifted from her - the weight of his love, though she doesn't know that that's what it is yet - but also she feels a slight sickness at his good humoured fun, as though the serious and adoring Gilbert has been lost to chum Gilbert forever. She doesn't have a clue where that feeling comes from, so she chooses to ignore it and be happy that their relationship seems to remain unchanged by the rash actions of the afternoon._

 _They row out, or rather Gilbert rows out as Anne splashes him with water while pretending to row with her hands. She soon stops this as his hair begins to curl even tighter with the water -_ think of your Romeo, Anne! - _and instead resorts to teasing him._

 _'Gilbert Blythe, for someone who proclaims so much knowledge of the water, you would think that the Lily Maid would be approaching her destination with far more rapidity than at present. Goodness, row faster!' she laughs, as he looks at her with love and indignation both._

 _'I'll have you know I am perfectly capable when not being distracted by present company!' He rolls his shirt sleeves up - already wearing the loose elbow length sleeves of the summer, this exposes his whole arm to Anne's gaze. She copes fairly well as he moves the oars back and forth, back and forth, she thinks... though he catches where her eyes fall with a sense of great pleasure. When they reach the centre of the pond, he lets go of the oars and allows them to drift, 'as though it were Elaine's funereal barge.' He leans closer to her then, moving to the centre of the boat. The sweat of the exertion on the hot day rolls down his forehead to his temples, collecting in the hair around them and bunching them into corkscrew curls. He passes his hand through his dark hair once again, mussing it up. 'Hello, Elaine.'_

 _'Lancelot,' she replies, rapt, before remembering their fate was romance as well. She must stop matching them up as fictional characters in love! She does the only thing she can do, and pushes him into the water._

 _'ANNE!'_

 _She replies with laughter._

 _'Help me back into this boat, right now!'_

 _More laughter._

 _'The only reason I'm not pulling you in here too is because I know that's your best dress, and as it's survived one dunking my resolution is waning fast!'_

 _This reduces her laughter to intermittent giggles, as she pulls him back in from his position of leaning on the edge of the boat. 'Sorry, Gil. I couldn't resist.'_ And I was scared, _she thinks._

 _..._

Walter Shirley's Queens Class, Avonlea Schoolhouse, 3.30 pm

'Hey, Anne,' he says as she approaches. 'How are you?'

She's been pretty steadfastly avoiding him all week. He misses her. The boys are starting to notice something's up.

'I'm just fine, thank you Gilbert. Yourself?'

 _Better for seeing you, love._ 'I'm fine too. Shall we get going on this dissection?'

The ice breaks; she's missed him too. 'Oh go on then, if we must.' She clutches his sleeve. 'Protect me from the water nymphs come for vengeance on us for killing their subjects?'

'If you insist.' _I'll do anything you insist on, if you would just let me be the man you insist on things to..._

'My knight in shining armour!' Dramatically she pretends to swoon, but he catches her as if it were real. 'Now now Carrots, we mustn't have you fainting, however romantic it is.'

'How very dare you, Gil? That brand of mocking pragmatism is just why you'll never be a Lancelot,' she teases, swatting his arm, but he's turned serious.

'I thought I was your Lancelot.'

She stares at him.


	13. Science Lesson

**A/N: getting as much done as I can now I have some free time. Again - it would probably be better policy to leave you all hanging for a little while but ah well - I'm enjoying writing this too much! -M**

'Anne, Gilbert! Your frog,' Walter shouts, coming towards the silent pair dangling it from his hands. 'I know you hate doing this, Anne, but you're in the presence of a future doctor, so I'm sure you'll be fine. _I hate it too, my little one,_ ' he whispers in her ear, ' _but it has to be done to get you to Queens.'_

He continues on to the front of the classroom to draw up the instructions on the board. Anne moves away from Gil, ostensibly to collect their equipment, but in reality to move away from the boy who has been making her feel _things_ for far too long. By the scalpels she meets Diana. 'You have to tell me _everything,_ ' her bosom friend declares, waving the (wrong) end of the knife in Anne's face faux-threateningly. 'There's a lot to this story and I am _determined_ to hear it!' Anne smiles again, loving to share things with Di, but she doesn't know how she feels about any of this yet - yet alone how to tell Diana the story.

'Only if you tell me about _Fre-ed,'_ she insinuates, singsong, before hurtling off with her own equipment to the front of the room where Gilbert waits.

'Got it,' she murmurs.

The initial demonstration goes fairly uneventfully as she can't see exactly what her father's doing on his desk at the front as she's standing behind an inconsiderate Charlie Sloane. However, during their own dissection, Anne, usually made of sterner stuff, begins to get upset.

'Look, Gil, I'm sorry, but I hate it. Why are we doing this? What did this frog do to us? What relevance does it have to our own body! _Euggh_!' She briefly considers how much she sounds like Ruby Gillis before the girl in question actually faints from her position at Charlie Sloane's side. Charlie looks down disapprovingly - _I didn't do anything! -_ so it is left to Gil, at the next desk over, to carry Ruby outside where Walter is catching a frog (as his and Jane's hopped out of the window). Anne feels a pang right in her chest as she watches Gilbert cradle Ruby to his chest and lay her carefully down in the fresh air, but pulls herself together and brings water from the cool brook to revive her. Gil administers it himself, cautiously angling her head to best drink it without choking.

When the drama's over and they return to their own frog, she tells him that he'll 'make an excellent doctor one day.'

'You think so?' He's pleased, at her approval but also at his own conduct.

'Yes... the way you held her and helped her drink... excellent...' she trails off, distracted.

 _She's jealous. She doesn't know it yet though,_ he thinks, pleased.

When it comes to their own frog's innards being spilt, he is satisfied once again, as she hugs his arm and buries her face in his sleeve. 'No, Gil... I don't want to look!'

'Anne, you must. I thought we agreed that if I touched it, you drew it. You're of a more artistic bent than me anyway.'

'Don't be so _heartless_!' He can feel the tears soaking through to his arm, so he draws her to him, earning a derogatory look from Charlie Sloane. He holds her to his chest, arms comfortably encircling her.

'I'm not! I'm sorry. I've seen you be more resilient than this, is all - at Idlewild, for example. I just had faith that you could do this - and I'm sorry if I overestimated that.'

Muffled into his chest, she replies: 'You're only saying that because you know 'my courage rises at every attempt to intimidate me', aren't you? You're trying to challenge me into this by saying I can't do it.'

'Indeed I am, Elizabeth Bennet,' he replies gaily, happy that she knows he knows her so well. 'I am genuinely sorry if I upset you though.'

'No, you're right. I should be tougher. I _am_ tougher. I don't know - it's just something about how clinical it is...'

'Hey, hey - no insulting of the doctorly proceedings!'

'I'm not trying to do _that -_ I know you just want to help people get better! It's the fact that it's dead, it just upsets me, is all. But I admire you for being able to do it so well. I _do._ '

He's releasing her, knowing that they're attracting stares from their peers. But he catches her eye as he does so. 'Thank you.'

Even Walter notices this moment of connection. He doesn't mind all that much about the content of the conversation too much, having discussed the matter with Bertha. But he wishes they wouldn't be so obvious around a _Pye_ and a _Sloane_. Haven't they learnt which are the most gossiping families of Avonlea?

Walter's ignorance of the web of who likes who at Avonlea means that he doesn't realise that it's not in their interests to spread the story of Anne and Gilbert's obvious preference for each other - Josie doesn't want to be seen as losing Gil to Anne, and Charlie doesn't want people to think Anne has chosen Gilbert when _obviously_ she only chose him as her partner to make sure her preference for Charlie was not too marked - but he is right that people begin to notice at school - mostly Diana and Fred, who can be teased in return quite easily, however.


	14. Much Ado About Debating

Anne and Diana like to gossip about boys. Specifically, Diana liked to talk about Fred, and Anne about how sick she was of all the boys - except Gilbert - and how she wanted to find her dream man - who also wasn't Gilbert. However, this was in an oddly contrary way, as if she was crying out that she liked Gilbert by pointing out all the qualities he didn't have. Yet when Diana would pick up on this, she would immediately vehemently deny any liking for him.

When Anne told Diana about Midsummer, she decided that the best policy was part of the truth, given in such a begrudging way that Di would think it was the whole truth. In this way Di would feel satisfied, yet the actual content would still be private.

'Oh - he was just teaching me how to swim, and my dad told us we could go to Queens! And then we went out boating and I pushed him in and I think he was angry, so he ignored me for a while.'

'Is that it? I was expecting something a little more interesting?' Diana asked suspiciously. She knew there was more to that story, but also that Anne didn't say anything until she was certain her convictions were correct - and therefore she would abstain from telling Diana anything further until she was sure of what she felt for Gilbert.

Anne vaguely registers that Diana knows she is not telling her everything, but denial is her natural state - and therefore she goes blithely on denouncing all the boys in their class.

'Have you seen the way Charlie's new glasses make his eyes twice as big as before?'

'Did you hear Ella tied Moody's ears to his head to flatten them out?'

'My ideal man is solemn and respectful of me - certainly not _teasing_ like Gilbert! As if he _knows_ me that well!'

And in response Diana gushes about Fred: 'Today he brought me wildflowers, Anne!'

And also: 'Are you _sure_ you don't like Gil, Anne?'

...

It's autumn; classes have restarted after summer, and today they're doing Shakespeare after school for Queens. It's Alexander's favourite - Much Ado About Nothing. Diana thinks that perhaps even Walter's decided to help Anne realise her feelings.

They divide into two teams: those who think that Hero and Claudio's relationship is Shakespeare's ideal model, and those who think Beatrice and Benedick's is.

Gilbert, unsurprisingly, goes straight to Beatrice and Benedick's side. Anne dithers, before joining Di at Hero and Claudio's table, primarily to antagonise Gilbert. She sticks her tongue out at him.

They arrange the tables into rows facing each other. The teams are Gil, Moody, Jane, and Walter and Josie, who only joined because the other side was full, against Anne, Di, Ruby, and Fred and Charlie who only joined to impress the girls they like.

Jane and Diana are the captains, having decided first. Jane makes an acerbic speech that mainly aims to deride Hero and Claudio, calling his instant abandonment of her a sign of a lack of trust and a placement of his friends' judgement as a higher priority than the girl he loved a sign that he doesn't value her. She calls Claudio timid and Hero weak for forgiving him.

Diana responds in kind, criticising Beatrice and Benedick's swearing of celibacy being a falsehood and therefore Shakespeare must have intended to mock them and undermine their independency, and promote the unity of Hero and Claudio instead. She insists the fact that they only fall for each other due to their own contrariness shows that they do not truly love each other as Hero and Claudio do.

Then the debate is opened up to the classroom, but of course the debate is ultimately hijacked by Anne and Gilbert. Anne goes first.

'Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to present my case for Hero and Claudio being the model of love Shakespeare aspires to. Though they are split up, they unite again and again - after war and after deceit. Their love is pure and adoring, and he waits for her all throughout the war. She is willing to forgive him, _Jane,_ because she loves him so much, and I think that Shakespeare is promoting that love that conquers all. This is shown by the way all the characters in the play support their relationship.'

She sits, pleased with herself for arguing both a perspective that she doesn't fully agree with, and yet still arguing for the love she hopes to have later in life. Of course, she is ultimately the most pleased with having annoyed Gilbert. Once again, she sticks her tongue out at him.

Yet Gilbert is not particularly amused. He argues his point like his life depends upon it: 'Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to present my case for Beatrice and Benedick being the model of love Shakespeare aspires to. Anne's point seems to imply that Beatrice and Benedick are not split up, but it is in fact implied they have been in love or friends before. Therefore the reuniting of love that she says characterises Hero and Claudio also characterises Beatrice and Benedick. Love conquers all for them too. But this is not my primary point of contention with her - Hero is walked on by Claudio. He calls her a 'rotten orange', yet she takes him back. Is this a model of love? Or is it a model of women accepting men who are not good for them? Yet I shall not spend too much of my allotted time criticising Hero and Claudio, but rather promoting Beatrice and Benedick. The presentation of them arguing is actually more realistic and more healthy.' Gilbert looks at Anne (again). 'At least Beatrice talks back to Benedick in a way Hero never does! It allows her to become a more interesting and complex character, and in the very act of defining her specific character traits, and Benedick's as well, it becomes clear that Shakespeare meant to promote their love as the primary focus of the play.' _Can she not see? I love her like any of her romantic heroes would - but because I don't moon over her so much, she never sees that it's real._

Gilbert walks Anne home, Walter staying behind to clean up and finish marking some essays. But she seems agitated, aloof, walking fast and slightly ahead through the misty evening. He reaches out to grab her arm and slow her pace.

'Hey, Carrots. Are you alright?'

'Yes. Fine.'

'Are you angry with me?'

'No.'

'Right.' He releases her; she moves away quickly.

He runs up behind her again, holds her hand.

'You are.'

'No! I'm not!'

 _At least she's showing some emotion now..._

'Then what's going on with you?'

'I'm... thinking. I'm thinking.'

'Well, that's never good.'

'Gilbert Blythe, be quiet! Or else I _will_ get angry with you!' But she slows down, walks at his side, holds his hand as they quietly bicker about whether Don Pedro was heartbroken over Beatrice.

'Of course he wasn't,' says Anne, 'because it's a comedy, and it has a happy ending, so all characters should be happy. If Don Pedro was heartbroken it wouldn't be a comedy, now would it?'

'But Beatrice is such a bright and interesting character - how could he not be in love with her?'

'Because Beatrice is meant to end up with Benedick! There shouldn't be any obstacles in the way of that.'

'Aha!' He cries, jubilantly. 'You admit it! They are meant for each other!'

'Yes, I suppose they are. I never denied that. I mostly went for Hero and Claudio to annoy you. But I do think that their kind of pure love is beautiful and aspirational - like my parents or your parents have.'

'Yes. It is beautiful. But I would argue that the couple who actually have that kind of love is Beatrice and Benedick. I don't think Hero and Claudio have it. Your parents aren't like that, are they? Your father doesn't walk all over your mother and excuse it with devotional praise? When will you see that the man doesn't have to be one-dimensional and devoted solely to the girl to have that kind of love?' He himself is agitated and passionate now, looking down at her with his pained gaze.

They have reached her house now. He leans down towards her. She is nervous and yet also very excited.

He kisses her cheek, lingers until he feels her shiver at his warm breath.

'Goodnight, Carrots.'


	15. Fireside Discussions

Anne is in turmoil.

He's wrong, isn't he? Wrong about that kind of love. To be so pure, the man has to be so pure, so in love like her father is with her mother. People say that Gil likes her but she can't find any evidence he likes her as more than a friend. Male/female friendships are like that, aren't they? Physical contact has always been a given between them. No - he can't like her. Though she likes the feel of his touch, it's just two kindred spirits communing. It's not love - is it? She cannot be in love with him. Being in love is like a lightning strike. She's heard her parents talk of the first time they met, like magic. She has just felt this affection for Gilbert her whole life. But what is he trying to prove with his insistence on Beatrice and Benedick? He likes someone else, perhaps, and he's trying to prove to her that he can love them. One of her friends? Ruby Gillis? That would explain the care he put into laying her down so gently the day of the dissection. That might be love. It doesn't hurt too much to think it - she tells herself.

She finds her mother in the sitting room, reading Pride and Prejudice again. Their favourite book. She sits by Bertha's feet near the hearth. 'Mummy, what is love?'

'That depends, little Anne. It's different for everybody.'

'What? Can it be love, then, if it's not like you and Dad? I thought love was like a lightning strike. Doesn't it hit everyone the same way?'

'My darling,' Bertha chuckles, 'have you learnt nothing? Your father and I are like Jane and Bingley, perhaps. Love at first sight. But other people are like Lizzie and Darcy - you are 'in the middle before you even knew you had begun.' Other people are like Mr and Mrs Bennet - outwardly dissatisfied, perhaps, but content enough to just have someone there. Or Mr and Mrs Gardiner - a real partnership. It can be any of these, and more, or a combination. It's not always as dramatic as Cathy and Heathcliff or Jane and Mr Rochester - and besides, have you noticed that these relationships can be filled with lies that are excused by this 'love'? No, for me, I like to describe your father and I as Jane, Bingley, and Mr and Mrs Gardiner. And you may be any of these. you just have to be open to anything, rather than prescribe the exact type you think you'll have. But you're young, my Annie. You could be in love right now and not know it - or you could be waiting for a perfectly courteous and adoring gentleman. I don't mind as long as you're happy. I have my own secret yearning for your future, but you must do what you think is right, and what you think makes you happiest.'

'Mummy, I thought for years that love was one thing. I suppose I still think it is that. What if I'm wrong?'

'Then you'll learn from your mistakes. I know I did...'

'Mother!' Anne exclaims, scandalised. 'What on earth did you do?'

Smirking, Bertha responds with: 'I may have had a few flirtations when I was only little older than you. But that's all they were! Your father was my first and only love. I promise you,' and strokes her daughter's flame hair, so like her father's. 'But if you do make mistakes, my darling, then you must always be courteous and considerate where you hurt. Promise me that, sweet.'

Anne nestles into Bertha's dress and nods. 'I promise, Mummy.' They sit companionably as Bertha reads Anne Lizzie's rejection of Darcy. 'Perhaps not like that, my love,' Bertha chuckles, 'though I have no doubt that if he is that rude he will deserve the tongue-lashing you will give him - and you will certainly give him it!'

 _'_ I suppose I would, Mum,' and they laugh as Walter comes through the door to join them.

'Hello, ladies,' he announces, flopping down onto the sofa. Walter has never done anything by halves in his life. 'What have you been discussing?'

'Well, I was just about to ask Mummy what she meant by her own 'secret yearning' for my future,' replies Anne.

Walter has his own sense of fun, and joins in. 'Yes, darling. What on earth could you mean by that?'

Bertha's face turns as red as her husband's and daughter's hair. 'Nothing in particular... I just mean - er - um...'

'Do go on, my love.'

She glares at him. 'I just want you to be happy, Anne. Now go and get changed, we'll have some tea and a family book party in front of the fire.'

Anne duly leaves, and Walter moves to kneel before her. 'I beg you, my queen, have mercy on me!'

She grins but looks away haughtily. 'Never speak to me again. I shall not forgive this slight as long as I live.'

As she speaks, he moves closer to her, before gently tilting his head forward far enough to kiss her. 'My penance, milady.'

'I suppose it shall suffice,' she whispers against his lips, before pulling him back in for another passionate embrace. They are standing by now, but slump back onto the sofa he was on before. 'You know perfectly well what I meant,' she murmurs, nudging him in the side with her elbow like a flirtatious teen. 'I don't know when she'll realise she's been in love with him since she was five. And I'm not entirely sure I want to tell her. It will make her grow up so fast, Walter. And it will shatter other fantasies she has too - and I by no means want her to give those up. But what I do want is for my daughter to eventually become Anne Shirley Blythe. You understand?'

'I always have and I always will know exactly what you mean, Bertha. Now, if we could return to those more enjoyable pursuits - the ones that lead to making children, not discussing the children we've already made...'

'Walter! How scandalous!' Bertha squeals happily, before leaning into his kiss again.

Some time passes.

' _Eurgh_!' shrieks a thoroughly disturbed Cordelia from the doorway.


	16. July

The school year comes to an end, and it's summertime. Early July and the hot breeze stirs the muggier air as the Shirley children and Gilbert sit at the edge of the Lake of Shining Waters, gently tapping the surface of the water with their feet.

'Ugh.'

'What?'

'It's too hot. It's just too hot.' Cordelia collapses into the bank, the sunbaked grass worsening her predicament. 'Argh, why? Why is it so hot? Everything's itchy and I hate it. I _hate_ it.'

Alexander, devoted twin that he is, fills a cup from their picnic with lake water and begins to flick it over Cordelia's face. 'Better?'

But Pierre has the wrong idea, and jolts Alexander's hand so that the cup tilts and its contents spill all over Cordelia. 'Better?' he asks in a sweet tone. 'Are you colder now, Cordelia?'

Gilbert, sensing her ire rising just as her sister's does, pulls Pierre protectively onto his lap. 'Dee, he was only trying to help!'

'He should know better! He's 6, why is he such an idiot?'

'I'm not an idiot!' he protests from within Gilbert's embrace.

'I'm telling Mum and Dad!' she shouts back, halfway up the slope, helplessly dragging her twin. Pierre extricates himself from Gilbert's caring but boiling arms, stumbling after them with cries of 'No, Dee! No!'

Gil and Anne are left chuckling by the water, her siblings no longer separating them. He shuffles up next to her. Their feet dangle in the hollow side by side, his tanned, hers pale. The minnows dart around them, skittish.

'How are you, Gil? We haven't spoken properly since school broke up,' she says, breaking the prolonged but pleasant silence.

'Very well thank you. I've been trying to get some studying out of the way before harvest comes around though. No rest for the wicked,' he mumbles with a grin. She returns it, pats his arm.

'What have you been doing?'

'Much Ado About Nothing,' he replies after a momentary pause. Then rattles off, 'Euclid, Virgil, dissection plates,' without placing quite the same amount of meaning on the words.

'Oh.'

'Yes, well... I find myself quite engrossed in the lovers' entanglements.'

'D-do you?'

'I do. Beatrice and Benedick have made quite the impression on me, I must say.'

She exhales shakily, prepared to hear his thoughts and think them over. _There is more than one way to love,_ her mother tells her inside her head. 'How so, Gil?'

He looks at her with a smile, a real one. 'I believe I've expounded my thoughts on them to you quite enough already, actually. You must be quite bored to hear me talk all the time.' He looks away bashfully.

She finds herself wanting to hear him talk of love, accepting within her heart a glimmer of _something_. 'N-no, do go on!' she nearly cries in protest, her hand falling on his arm as he turns away, moving up to his neck to compel him to look at her again.

'As you wish,' he whispers, face suddenly inches from hers as he turns back to meet her own advancing features.

One moment. He inhales, makes a decision.

He kisses her then, their bare feet entwining in the water that laps around them, her other hand coming up to meet the one already around his neck, their bodies rotating to meet in the middle. Her lips softly meet his - they are perfect, they rest there for a moment, before she responds in kind, pushing in to meet him. Their skin meets, brushing slowly against the other in an extension of the kiss, the soft warmth of it allowing the July haze to envelop them as they gently press together. A warmth that has nothing to do with the oppressive heat of the day kindles in her stomach; she tingles as he gathers her nearer in his arms, sleeves pushed up to the elbow again. She lets out a little sigh that puffs across his nose; he smiles and leans back in.

Who knows how long they are there for? It cannot be long, though it feels like an eternity, as they separate only when they need to breathe. Panting, Gilbert whispers 'that is my case for Beatrice and Benedick'.


End file.
